


you'll make it through

by daring_elm



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Angst, Blood, But:, Death, Dissociation?, M/M, but the death isn't described, inspired by carl sagan's smoking chair by levi the poet, so i'm not tagging major character death, someone kinda important died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21585643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daring_elm/pseuds/daring_elm
Summary: The death of a star, no matter how insignificant its light seemed, is always a tragedy to those dependant on it.
Relationships: Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	you'll make it through

**Author's Note:**

> _anything could happen with the right set of lungs breathing into this room_
> 
> inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ib9HF7c63Is) (warning for flashing images in the video)

The phone rang.

A ray of sunshine broke through the heavy storm clouds that had been casting a shadow over Logan for the last week or so, illuminating the dust caught in the air. Logan watched it dance through the room; watched the minuscule particles float and twirl around each other.

Countless times Logan had talked about how the universe was composed of the same elements, about the constant push and pull between every living thing, those which were no longer living and those which might never be. How humans consisted of the same things stars were made of, and he told Patton that how no matter how small he felt, there was a whole universe inside him yearning to be seen.

The sunlight was warm on the back of his neck, and comforting like an embrace Logan was afraid he might never feel again. It was hopeful in a strange, twisted way, whispering that he would make it through. No matter the pain of today, no matter what message the person on the other side of the phone held for him (though Logan already knew, of course, the knowledge dawning on him like a blood-red sunrise, inescapable like the passage of days and weeks and months, pulling him forward without his consent)—he would heal again. His broken lungs would heal despite the air knocked out of him over and over, his eyes would learn to see beauty again and every gasp of air he lost would ripen with new wisdom and find its way back into this endless and beautiful system. Everything would come back together, but was it too much to ask for that it stood still for just a moment?

The phone rang, and Logan was afraid that if he picked up, it would all be over.

He stood up, though every muscle in his body ached to stay sitting down, weary from sleepless nights and restless days. The hallway seemed like an insurmountable obstacle; each step past affectionately named houseplants and Polaroids tacked to the wall next to postcards with animals and art and "wish you were here"s was another pin in Logan's heart. The room was closing in on him, and every inch forward was a fight against his mind, against the voice begging him not to pick up the phone, not to destroy the last bit of hope he had that it might not be true.

Patton had always loved the rotary phone for reasons incomprehensible to Logan—in his opinion, no amount of old-fashioned charm made up for a mobile phone's functionality. Still, Logan had to admit there were few things less satisfying than slamming down the receiver after a particularly infuriating conversation (Patton always whined that he would break it, but Logan insisted it was its most important perk). The rotary phone was allowed to stay.

Every shrill ring beat the truth in, tethering him to reality while Logan's mind screamed for an escape, and when he picked up, the light blue plastic was carrying the weight of his pounding heart, begging to be released from his hand, from his mind, from whatever terrible thread of existence he had tapped into and couldn't leave.

"Sir, are you sitting down?"

The last shimmer of hope broke, shattered like glass that had been under pressure for too long and fell apart the second it was released. Heaviness settled in his stomach. Logan had known, had known for weeks that this would come, but it was impossible to fathom. Patton was gone.

The room felt wider than ever before, emptier than the silence through the pastel cord Patton would never twirl around his fingers in thought again. The space defied the cluttered surfaces, the grand piano in the corner that hadn't been played for months, dusted with unmistakable neglect. Patton had begun to teach Logan how to play, but since he fell ill, neither of them had touched the keys even once.

A broken requiem hung like dust in the air. And what more than dust were they? They were meaningless specks in an indifferent universe, infinitesimal particles floating around each other in an endless dance; they were binary stars in a sky of billions of their kind.

A ray of sunshine broke through the heavy storm clouds, sending rainbows through the room, and Logan still couldn't find the words to break through the deafening silence. An unattainable future flashed before his eyes, where they were together, where they were both okay. Logan would always carry his dying star with him.

He hoped Patton could understand. He failed to preserve his one true love, and there was no excuse—there was nothing except for Patton's touches in every room, memories staining the space like spilled wine, as deep and rich as the blood Logan had seen that day. The time had come, and he hoped Patton would forgive him for giving up so soon.

And for a fraction of a second, Logan could hear his voice—soft as the sweetest of songs, drifting through his exploding universe before he could grasp it. A whisper in his ear, perhaps even less, but Logan heard his cry so clearly he stumbled backwards, stricken by the weight of Patton's words: " _My love, are you sitting down?_ "

And no matter how small, how insignificant in the grand scheme of things his star, his brightest of all suns was, he was the entire world to Logan. He meant more than the rest of the universe could even begin to; he was a glowing, shining, dying star and Logan would search for that world of astronomical possibilities to the end of his days, a world where Patton was alive and with him, where he could open his eyes and everything would be alright.

And as Logan was informed of a fate he already knew too much about, tears streamed down his face, every deafening what if silenced. There was nothing left to do, weight pressing down on him until he felt too heavy to breathe.

He would learn to love again.

But for now, he had to mourn his second star.


End file.
